Judith Marsett stood in her room to receive Nesta’s hero.  She was flushed, and had thinned her lips for utterance of a desperate thing, after the first severe formalities.

Her aim was to preserve an impressive decorum.  She was at the same time burning to speak out furious wrath, in words of savage rawness, if they should come, as a manner of slapping the world’s cheek for the state to which it reduces its women; whom one of the superior creatures can insult, and laugh.

Men complaining of the ‘peace which is near their extinction,’ have but to shuffle with the sex; they will experience as remarkable a change as if they had passed off land on to sea.

Dartrey had some flitting notion of the untamed original elements women can bring about us, in his short observant bow to Mrs. Marsett, following so closely upon the scene with Mrs. Blathenoy.

But this handsome woman’s look of the dull red line of a sombre fire, that needed only stir of a breath to shoot the blaze, did not at all alarm him.  He felt refreshingly strung by it.

She was discerned at a glance to be an aristocratic member of regions where the senses perpetually simmer when they are not boiling.  The talk at the Club recurred to him.  How could Nesta have come to know the woman?  His questioning of the chapter of marvellous accidents, touched Nesta simply, as a young girl to be protected, without abhorrently involving the woman.  He had his ideas of the Spirit of Woman stating her case to the One Judge, for lack of an earthly just one:  a story different from that which is proclaimed pestilential by the body of censors under conservatory glass; where flesh is delicately nurtured, highly prized; spirit not so much so; and where the pretty tricking of the flesh is taken for a spiritual ascendancy.

In spite of her turbulent breast’s burden to deliver, Mrs. Marsett’s feminine acuteness was alive upon Dartrey, confirming here and there Nesta’s praises of him.  She liked his build and easy carriage of a muscular frame:  her Ned was a heavy man.  More than Dartrey’s figure, as she would have said, though the estimate came second, she liked his manner with her.  Not a doubt was there, that he read her position.  She could impose upon some:  not upon masculine eyes like these.  They did not scrutinize, nor ruffle a smooth surface with a snap at petty impressions; and they were not cynically intimate or dominating or tentatively amorous:  clear good fellowship was in them.  And it was a blessedness (whatever might be her feeling later, when she came to thank him at heart) to be in the presence of a man whose appearance breathed of offering her common ground, whereon to meet and speak together, unburdened by the hunting world, and by the stoneing world.  Such common ground seems a kind of celestial to the better order of those excluded from it.

Dartrey relieved her midway in a rigid practice of the formalities:  ’I think I may guess that you have something to tell me relating to Miss Radnor?’